


Traffic

by Cardiganofangst



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Bond is a badass, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Moneypenny is a badass, Q is a badass, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, post Skyfall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardiganofangst/pseuds/Cardiganofangst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q gets his very own mission. Things go disaterously wrong and Bond is brought in to rescue him, but despite the best intentions sometimes a man can get left behind. The results are horrible and not even 007 is sure if he can pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traffic

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a couple of prompts from the 007 kink meme
> 
> Here is the first prompt:
> 
> Abandoned by MI6 and left to die in the hands of his kidnappers, Q is discovered in a Russian whorehouse three years later during an sting operation by MI5.
> 
> And this one;  
> Right, so Q gets kidnapped, but is all BAMF and doesn't give the necessary information his kidnappers want. Bond is on their tail and the bad guys realise this so sell/give Q to a sex trafficking ring. By the time MI6 does find the bad guys Q is is gone and Bond is too late to rescue him.
> 
> later Bond is on a mission and ends up infiltrating or taking down the same sex trafficking ring and either discovers Q or gets told that Q is alive and had once been there and tracks him down and recuses him and helps him deal with the horrible trauma he has been through.
> 
> think is particularly graphic, but I've put warnings just in case. Be warned my muse is very dark.
> 
> Unbetaed so all mistakes are completly my own

They didn’t expect him to fight back, Q grins, blood smearing his chin, dripping from his cracked lips. His glasses lay broken, empty frames all twisted, shards scattered on the floor. It’s the last thing he sees before a hand roughly covers his mouth and he is forced to breathe in chloroform and everything turns black.

&&&

He had actually been looking forward to visiting Switzerland, seeing sights that weren't through CCTv, or hacked satellite feeds, a chance to get out from behind the desk for once. 

The Swiss Federal Intelligence service had obtained some highly confidential material on some very secure hard drives and needed someone help them decrypt the information and also reverse or prevent the destruction of their own mainframe which had begun when some unfortunate techie had connected it to their computer.

He certainly could relate to their situation.

M had briefed him, explained how MI6 was putting the best man on the job, which was him, and how the FIS were going let Q have access to some very choice bits of top secret information as a result.Although if there was an opportunity for him to download all the contents of the hard drives without the Swiss noticing, or ever finding out he would be much appreciative. 

Q hadn’t been quite sure if he was joking or not.

It had been quite surreal wandering around Q branch stores choosing expensive equipment to gift himself whilst on his visit. He almost felt he should make some sarcastic remark or quip, as he carefully selected what he might need, to make up for the lack of double-oh agents in the vicinity. At least he was certain these items would return in the perfect condition they started off in.

As he packed his suitcase ready for his very own trip abroad he wondered what comments or suggestions Bond would make about the mission. He’d no doubt criticise him over the lack of designer suits in his bag. Or the fact he’d decided not to take any guns with him, 007 would probably go on a long time about that one. Of course Q appreciated weapons, and knew their usefulness, he worked for the department that designed them after all but was quite happy to admit that a smart phone was more lethal in his hands then a gun ever would be.

 However, the agent in question was undercover in Eastern Europe somewhere, probably wilding pulling,in every sense of the word, or not pulling triggers for queen and country, and not even Q knew all the sordid details of his particular mission. Though more then likely at the present moment he was busy causing things to explode that shouldn’t.

He was escorted to the train station by MoneyPenny, because no matter how imperative the situation, if they wanted his help there was no way he was flying.

He has known her throughout his time at MI6, had seen how she took no nonsense from other agents, had seen her kill without mercy in the field.But he’d never thought to experience her darker side, no, she’d shout at the double ohs whilst making him tea, or discuss with him about pranks to play on Tanner, in between profiling hit lists on major terrorist threats. 

But as soon as he got in the BMW(Not every agent had to announce their arrival, or indeed departure as prestigiously as 007) her demeanour changed.

In clipped courteous tones he was informed that he be would be taking the Eurostar from London to Paris then the TGV-Lyria to Zurich. On arrival he would be met by Swiss agents, who would ensure he was well looked after during his stay. He would report to Moneypenny or Tanner every 48hrs starting today at 9pm (Swiss time) on how his efforts were going. If he was going to miss his call he was to inform them at least two hours beforehand so they could rearrange it for a more suitable time. 

He remembered nodding solemnly in an effort placate her. It would be fine, he estimated it would probably take him all of three days to remedy the technical issues and piece together broken codes. Maybe four if he decided to do a bit of sight seeing.   

 Her face was schooled into a carefully appropriate frown and she simply shook his hand as he went to leave for the train station. In fact Eve’s behaviour shone solemnly with polished professionally as he temporarily juxtaposed his role as quartermaster for that of an agent, which is odd he thinks, considering her close relationship with a certain double oh, but as he gets his suitcase from the boot her mask crumbles. She gets out of the car and envelopes him into strong hug.

’Be careful, but have fun.’ she winks. 

He knows he will.

%%%

Bond stares at the grey sky, blood drips from his fingers, and he is one step closer to gaining trust from a the rouge Slovakia Counter intelligence Group (SCIG)a SMERSH splinter group.

The sky splits open with a thunderous roar, and rain lambastes him like hundreds of tiny speeding bullets. He jogs, three streets down there are people waiting to ensure ’the job’ has been done properly, there is also  another watching him far more intently, down the barrel of a sniper rifle somewhere in the rooftops above.

It’s one of the many reasons why he’s surprised to see Moneypenny on the street corner opposite him.

’See anything you like’ she taunts in slovakian as he deliberately, casually, walks past. James can’t help but take a moment to appreciate how good she looks in the tight back top which caresses her figure and beautifully short skirt, that reveals pert thighs.

’Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes’ he whispers, with no need to pretend to gawp.

’Tonight,červené Pery, eleven.’ She whispers managing to make those four words sound suitably filthy.

’Why?’ He softly strokes her cheek. Bond is curious, he’s only just managed to infiltrate SCIG’s inner circle  he shouldn’t be going anywhere just yet. 

’See you then sweetheart’ She laughs dirtily, and Bond blows her a kiss and is forced to bite his tongue.

 

%%%

By the third punch it's all becoming so predictably mundane. The tall beefy man shouts questions that Q would know, but he is not Q, he is J, for John, he is just an IT support technician and has no idea what's going...

Neither party is convinced by the soft spoken yet thoroughly researched lie, muttered through gritted teeth with fake honesty and real desperation.

A fist slams into his nose and it explodes, blood bubbles through his mouth,back up the broken appendage and he chokes on the thick coppery liquid that slides down the back of his throat. His vision goes black.

Things had been progressing rather well at FIS. The Swiss were impeccably polite considering they’d had to send for an agent in another country to sort out a what turned out to be few simple viruses and some admittedly  creative encryption programmes. 

It didn’t surprise Q that decrypting the hard drives were going quicker then expected, he always rose to challenges and sometimes he felt more akin to a machine then a human, mind whirring, full of equations and binary numbers, fingers furiously typing digits, strings, codes, he doesn’t need food, or water, adrenaline that comes with solving complex conundrums is the only fuel he needs.

 He was surprised however, when after ten hours the Swiss agents order him to stand down, courteously of course, as they show him out the building, sign him out and drive him, in an understated car, to what will be his new flat for the next few days. 

They then smile, make a joke about his unkempt hair and caffeine stained cardigan, which for cultural relations, he diplomatically laughs at, before quietly pointing out that even in his unorthodox state he’d managed to achieve more then they had with their own computer systems in one day then they had in the past week. To be fair they take it better then most double ohs would and mention something about collecting him early the next morning.

He is left alone, mind buzzing. He puts in a call to M16, dutifully informing them of his brilliance, the appreciation of the SFI service and that he would bring Eve back some chocolates. The last being the most important task of course. Adrenaline still surging through his veins he paces the small yet cosy interior of his new home, which perhaps rather unfairly, reminds him of something out of an Ikea catalogue. 

He searches through the cupboards and draws wondering what goodies foreign agents are entitled to. Alas, no exploding pens just plain English brands of food and drink, and someone had access to some good intel as there are earl gray tea bags placed neatly next to the black stainless steel kettle. Q amuses himself with the idea that his favourite brand of tea has somehow made it made to the top of a list in the file with his name upon it.

So he makes his favourite tea with British milk (did they ship it over just for him he wonders) and stares out at the golden hue that is Zurich at night, and makes a decision.

He should have stayed inside, inside the white plush minimalist walls of the flat. The flat with the friendly security guard with a wrinkled smile and a hidden pistol in his jacket pocket.

But no, he decides to explore the finer points of Swiss culture with his own eyes. Of course he is accompanied by a bored agent, his babysitter, who dutifully gives him the grand tour, shows him some picturesque places outside the tourist traps, points out some nice restaurants to grab some lunch and then leads him down a dark back street were three men jump out and ambush him.

They think, because his body is all angles and lines that he wears thick woolly cardis, because his mind is his sharpest tool that he will be an easy target.

They truly underestimate him. 

So he takes great pleasure in the shocked expressions on their faces as he reaches for his shirt collar and pulls out a long blade, which had been resourcefully folded within, and virtually undetectable, not to mention one of his own earliest designs for MI6.

There was no way he was going completely unarmed, no matter how peaceful the mission.

Q steps forward and slashes at them, he knows they have guns, that he has quite literally brought a sword to gun fight and therefore has pretty minuscule odds on actually winning this, stand off, he believes the doubles ohs call it, but he’s exceptionally pleased when he inflicts a deep gash on one of the attempted abductors arms and stabs another in the stomach. Even though it isn’t enough to stop them from pushing to the ground,kicking him and dragging him off to god knows where, he’s glad he didn’t go down without a fight.  

Even now stuck in between unconsciousness and reality, he really doesn’t regret inflicting the injuries. In fact he hopes they scar horribly.

 With such bitter thoughts Q slowly returns to consciousness, a cold stone floor, hands and feet tightly cuffed together and the same beefy moron asking the same stupid questions and a small man with blood on his hands and a nasty grin on his face.

’Ready to start again’ he asks sinisterly.   
Q spits in his face.

%%%

The červené pery is a brothel, and as Bond makes his way there he wonders exactly how many pies MI6 really has got their dirty little fingers in.

He spots Eve easily, she’s glowing and practically exuding sexiness dressed up in more expensive, if no less erotic attire. He strolls up to her  and squeezes her bottom, she deserves that, he’s annoyed, the people he’s infiltrating don’t appreciate sudden disappearances for quick fucks. 

Murdering petty thieves, or stockpiling weapons yes, shags no. It’s no wonder they're all so angry.

’You’ll never be able to afford me’ She subtly pushes his hand from her whilst moving her own dangerously close to his thigh.

’Well, you must have really missed me to come all this way’ He bends his head down and whispers in her ear.

’We’re pulling you out’ She smiles sweetly and nuzzles against him.

’What’ he snaps, and for a moment all pretences are forgotten. This is a dangerous organisation and it has taken weeks just to earn the simplest of trusts. 

He turns, there is no way MI6 are going to just remove...

’Q’s gone.’ Moneypenny snaps back, and that gets Bond’s attention.

’What do you mean gone?’ his voice is dangerously low. Despite the guy's best efforts he actually gets on well with Q. Very well, if he was a woman perhaps he’d have gone further with him, or maybe was he was savouring the challenge, Q was a challenge he quite like to savour.

But no, he shuts that line of thought down,since Vesper, and god just thinking of her names still hurts,  
it was simply fucking and fighting for queen and country. He would stick to what he was best at.  

’He disappeared from Zurich around twelve hours ago.’ 

’Zurich? What the hell was Q doing in Switzerland’ Obviously, MI6 couldn’t go more then a month or two without loosing some important operative.

’Are you ready to leave, or do you need to sort any loose ends?’ Eve bats her eye lashes and stares up at him.

Spoken so simply, as if disappearing from SCIG was going to be easy. He knows that if he leaves there is little chance of ever getting another agent this deep within the organisation again. Moneypenny was giving him the opportunity to pretend this encounter had never happened.

He was not going to leave Q. 

’Let’s go to Zurich’ He grimaces, snatching a scotch from a nearby table and downing it.  

%%%

Q groans with relief as the door to his cell slams shut.  Quickly, he takes stock, he knows they’ll be back very soon.

He’s heard the howling screams of agents suffering torture, watched as operatives lay dying because of the torture that’s been inflicted to their fragile bodies, he’s  whispered false yet comforting platitudes through his earpiece, is certainly not naive when it comes to such dark subject matters. But it’s always been from a distance, a screen shielding him from the explicit horrors of it’s twisted reality.

The feeling of dread, knowing every time he opens his mouth the only certainly is that there’s going to be horrible pain and the only way of escaping it he can not, will not, utter.

His right eye is swollen shut and the act of simple breathing hurts his nose. Q closes his eyes and tries twisting his hands in the hand cuffs, it’s arduous, both  his little fingers are broken, and he takes a shaky breath in, thinking that in hindsight, spitting at the guy who’d broken his nose was not one of his better ideas. He grimaces, he really needs to get a move on.

Far too slowly for his liking he manages to twist his left hand to grasp his right cuff link. Whilst they had rather roughly checked him for bugs, he is immensely grateful they haven’t stripped him. Especially as the cuff link he has managed to grip between his thumb and middle finger is actually a universal lock pick.

God, he has never been so grateful for his own department’s gadgetry. He grunts, it’s damn awkward trying to swivel his hands around to get the pick to fit in the lock.He nearly drops it twice and bites back a scream of frustration. 

He swears he is going to get Bond, or any double oh for that matter, to give him lessons if he escapes this mess.

It’s hard work but finally he hears the amazing click that signifies he’s got it in the lock, with a bit of twisting the handcuffs drop off and Q lets out a long moan of relief.

Rapidly, he does the same with the handcuffs that dig into his ankles and gleefully rubs some life back into his feet as they come off. Carefully he slides the heel of his left shoe and presses a down a button that he knows, or at least sincerely hopes, is sending his current location to MI6.

Sliding the heel back on he cautiously stands up and looks around his cell from something he can make into a weapon.

%%%

Bond is glaring at a rather sorry looking Swedish version of M. Moneypenny has seen that look before, is in fact one of the few that have survived it and lived to tell the tale.

’Our agent is currently recovering from an operation because of the injuries he sustained from the kidnappers, we have already questioned him. I assure you we are gathering as much information as we can pertaining to your agents rescue. We will inform you as soon as we have any new developments’ Swedish M sinks back into his chair dwarfed by it’s large leather frame.

Eve knows better then to underestimate him though, and goes to leave, hoping Bond will take the hint.  

’So you’re telling me that you have no idea, how three enemy agents knew about Q’s visit, nor how they managed to bloody kidnap him whilst under the protection of one of your own agents’ Bond growls, teeth snarled. 

’At this moment, no’ The head of FIS’s voice is as cold and as sharp as glass.   

Moneypenny grabs 007’s arm and starts to forcefully lead him out the office before he can single handedly start a war with Switzerland. 

’What does the I stand for in FIS, because it sure as fuck doesn’t mean intelligence..’ He yells down the corridor. 

’Bond shut up’ She snaps guiding him out of the building as fast as she can.

’Being pedantic isn’t going to help.’

’No we’ll just lie back and think of England, the one thing your best at’

She goes to smack him because she has heard the rumours flying around work about her and M and out of all the double ohs he is the one that knows she has worked damn fucking hard to get to were she is. She is and always will be more then just tits and arse, she has a clever mind and deadly hands, or is it the other way round? She sure as hell won’t let 007 forget that.

Bond grabs her hand and for a minute Moneypenny thinks he’s going to strike her down. But he doesn’t, instead he walks towards their car and gets in slamming the door shut.

Rolling her eyes, she too gets in the car, slamming the door equally hard. In fact she deliberately avoids eye contact until the double oh starts up the engine.

’Ramistrasse 100’ she mutters coldly as Bond starts up the sat-nav.

’What?’

’The address for hospital I assume you’re going to be headed for at breakneck speed’ She says coldly.

Bond grins.

’I am never going to doubt you again Moneypenny.’

It’s a grandiose statement, and undoubtedly false but it’s as close to an apology as she’s ever going get from him.

%%%  
Bond breaks the speed limit on purpose, hoping that the FIS are watching, so they see how little of a shit he gives about their orders of sitting tight. 

He doesn’t storm into the hospital, he’s better then that, instead he lets Moneypenny do the talking and in less the ten minutes they are escorted to the third floor of the hospital to a private room were the FIS agent lay sleeping.

Not for long.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to warn anyone that does read this, I'm a bit slow at updating and unfortunately have a busy week ahead of me, but slow and steady win the race as people say...


End file.
